


Good To Me

by cobalamincosel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drinking, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn With Plot, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22277851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobalamincosel/pseuds/cobalamincosel
Summary: It all starts at Yuta’s house, and Mark’s shaking the entire time.The overriding thought in his head is that he wants Johnny to kiss him, or he wants to lean in and do it himself. But Johnny’s hand is resting gently on Mark’s shoulder, and Mark is waiting for him to make the next move.It doesn’t come.“I’m gonna go get us water, okay?”Johnny steps out of their pocket of space, and away.Or: A story where Mark Lee drinks way more than he should and forgets his brain-to-mouth filter exists. It's a good thing that Johnny Suh is the Only Man Ever, and actually bothers to talk to him about it the next day.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 66
Kudos: 672





	Good To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed to get this out of my system. I'm still on hiatus, still studying, turned this out in a couple of hours in a frenzied haze.
> 
> This is only very lightly beta-ed by the lovely Ain. 
> 
> This is for the like, maybe 7 or 8 people who let me scream at them because this ship has taken a hold of me and hasn't let me go. Thank you guys, you're the realest. 
> 
> -
> 
> Mark here is 21, a Lit Major.  
> Johnny is 25, taking his Masters in Psychology.
> 
> -
> 
> Title from Seventeen's 'Good To Me'.

It all starts at Yuta’s house, and Mark’s shaking the entire time. 

Shaking from anticipation, like he’s that 2001 Britney Spears song that his older brother had played on loop on his cassette player back when they were kids. Shaking from the fact that he’s been harboring a crush on his senior for nearly five months now, and here he is, backed up against the wall near Yuta’s open air patio, and Johnny Seo is resting his forehead on Mark’s. 

There’s a bottle of beer in Mark’s hand and he hasn’t let go of it yet, the neck dangling from his fingers while his other hand rests on Johnny’s chest, just above his heart where it’s hammering against his ribcage. 

“I’m a little tipsy,” Johnny says, and his breath smells like tequila. They’d played several rounds of beer pong, and Taeil had amped it up by bringing two bottles of Cuervo out. Johnny’s not slurring, per se. It strikes Mark as a little odd-- he knows that Johnny can handle his liquor, and yet--

“I know,” Mark says. “I know.”

The overriding thought in his head is that he wants Johnny to kiss him, or he wants to lean in and do it himself. But Johnny’s hand is resting gently on Mark’s shoulder, and Mark is waiting for him to make the next move.

It doesn’t come. 

“I’m gonna go get us water, okay?” 

Johnny steps out of their pocket of space, and away. 

Mark lets out an exhale. Closes his eyes and wills his half-mast erection to disappear. 

Jesus, this is him when all he’s had is Johnny’s breath on his lips. What’s going to happen if they actually manage to get anywhere past that?

Mark pushes off from the wall and back into the foray of the merry, drunken college students Mark calls his friends. On one of the couches in the open-air patio, Doyoung straddles Jaehyun. Near them, Xiaojun and Kun hold Sicheng upside down to drink from the beer keg. There’s a pocket of some of their friends from the other majors in the garden surrounded by various puffs of smoke. Vernon calls Mark over, but Mark waves him off, gesturing that he’s moving inside.

It’s more chaotic outside than it is in the house, which bodes well for Yuta since his mother would probably kill him if she found any stains on their couch or any broken trinkets from their travels. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, heart still hammering from the alcohol and the almost-kiss. There’s a scattering of people there, and he finds Johnny and Yuta chatting by the sink while Johnny pours water from the Brita pitcher into a clean red cup. 

“Ey yo, Markie,” Yuta says, dusting some Cheetos powder from his hands and bringing Mark in for a hug before stepping back. “You good?” 

“A little buzzed,” Mark says, laughing while Yuta feels him up like he always does. “Pretty thirsty.”

“Gotcha,” Johnny says, handing the cup over to him. “You could have waited, I was gonna head back to you.” 

Mark flushes a bit. Johnny’s voice is tender, like he’s addressing his lover and not-- not whatever the fuck Mark is to him. 

“It’s alright,” Mark says. “Got a little impatient.” 

It slips out, and isn’t at all what Mark meant to say, though with the five shots in his system and the margaritas that Yuta had started handing out at 5 pm, it’s a wonder that Mark is upright and coherent at all. Johnny’s lips quirk up a bit at that. 

“Impatient, huh?” Johnny says, small smile on his face before taking a long sip from his own water. “You okay, Markie? Wanna head back out?” 

Mark’s frustrated. He’s so fucking frustrated. They’ve been dancing around each other for a while, and instead of getting the full experience of what he thought his college life would be, getting drunk and having sloppy, hot sex with this tall, hot man, all he’s getting is tentative touches to the small of his back and the insinuation that neutral territory is outside with their friends, and not here, in a kitchen that, now that Yuta has walked out, contains only the both of them. 

“Johnny?” Mark says, and he’s setting the cup down, all the water in his system now. His head feels a little less foggy, but it still there. His thoughts catch up with him and ring out loudly in his head, an echo of KISS ME, KISS ME, KISS ME PLEASE bouncing around in his skull. It’s all Mark wants to do. 

“I don’t want to kiss you when you’re drunk,” Johnny says softly. “Not like this.”

Mark is filled with equal parts dread and longing. 

“Wait, did I--”

“Yeah, you kinda said that out loud,” Johnny says. Mark tracks his movement like it happens frame per frame. Johnny’s hand on the back of his neck; Mark’s hand back on Johnny’s chest, the way it was minutes prior. 

Johnny presses a kiss to Mark’s temple like a brand, and Mark closes his eyes. Wills himself to remember every millisecond of it, before Mark is released, and Johnny waits for him to walk back outside. 

Mark quells his disappointment, and grabs another beer on his way to the small doorway leading out of the kitchen. If Johnny isn’t going to kiss him tonight, then he might as well just forget about it, and drink some more. 

-

Drinking some more was not a good idea, as evidenced by the pounding headache that Mark has the next morning. His eyes are sticky, crust formed where his fingers try to rub sleep from his eyes. 

Mark doesn’t even remember how he got home, only that his last lucid memory is Johnny laughing across the beer pong table from him. Mark feels around for his glasses and his phone. The glasses aren’t on the bedside table, they’re on the floor instead. He’s only dressed in a hoodie; his pants lay strewn on the floor by his cabinet. He trips on his blanket trying to clean the mess, and finally finds his phone under the comforters. It’s barely alive, the screen telling him he’s living on five percent battery life. 

There are several messages waiting for him, including three from Johnny, the last of which says, “Sleep well, Mark.”

Jesus. 

Mark rolls his neck and stretches out to touch his toes, which is a stupid idea in hindsight, given that he’s nursing probably one of the worst hangovers he’s ever had, and that includes the year-end party where the only options they had for alcohol was fucking Bacardi 151 and Jægermeister. 

It’s a Saturday, and there isn’t much to do for the day except maybe tidy up his room and work on his next paper for his Comparative Literature.

It beats trying to parse how the fuck the evening made him feel, anyway. 

He puts his phone away on the nightstand to charge while he pops into the bathroom to piss and shower, and it isn’t until an hour later, skin pink and hair dripping into his eyes that Mark checks it again. 

He opens up Instagram and sees that he’s been tagged in several stories, and that’s when his heart nearly drops out of his ass.

There are videos from the party last night, and some of them have Mark in really incriminating positions-- that is to say, he’s staring at Johnny in half of them with longing in his eyes, and the other half are of him playing the flute really terribly, as well as singing ‘Shape of You’ off-key to a Johnny who is seated on the couch while Mark and Ten do an awful rendition of the already-awful song to begin with. 

_Oh my God,_ Mark thinks. _I'm never drinking again._

It would be fine! It really would be, if Mark wasn’t so fucking obvious about how he felt about Johnny. There’s a memory of lips on his temple, but everything else fades after that. Or at least, they had, before Mark’s traitorous friends decided to broadcast his motherfucking heart-eyes for the world to see. 

That’s when Mark swipes back to his messages, and sees a few new ones from Johnny.

 **Johnny [10:34 am]** : Hey Markie, how are you feeling? 

**Johnny [10:35 am]:** Do you think I could come over? I think we need to talk about something. 

Mark’s entire body feels like it’s been doused by ice water. Johnny always texts so curtly, so much so that sometimes it almost comes off rude or humorless, so Mark can’t exactly tell if he’s being extra serious right now, or just his usual self. 

**Mark [10:42 am]:** feelin like death lol and yeah sure come over im just gonna clean up

His heart is racing now that he’s worrying that Johnny is going to come over to turn him down. Mark runs it through his head, goes through the motions of it, plays it out. Johnny will turn him down, and Mark will nod, say thanks for being honest, and then just nurse his broken heart in secret. It’ll be okay. 

It’s gotta be okay. 

His phone pings, and Johnny’s reply is a simple, “See you in a few”. 

Mark pads over to the fridge and takes out a bottle of Pocari Sweat, chugging half the bottle in one go like his life depends on it. He’s a little nauseous still, his body adjusting to the sudden addition to his stomach so soon after emptying the contents an hour prior. 

Mark sighs. He’s about to have his heart broken while hungover. Par for the course in his life so far, he figures. 

A notification comes on from his horoscope app, a gag that Jaemin had insisted he download and check every day, saying, “God knows that you need the help of the universe for signs when you’re too oblivious to see what’s going on in front you.” 

For the most part, Jaemin has been right, and even if Mark does still pray fairly often, he doesn’t think it would be too terrible to sort of get some guidance from the cosmos. 

Today, it seems fitting.

On his app, it says, for Leo:

 **JAN 15, 2020:**

[ You have excellent self-control right now, but are you using it for the right reasons? Resisting temptation is a good way to use this strength you have, but subjugating your emotions is not. Controlled anger is still anger, make no mistake about it. You have got to let your emotions out today. Step right up to that person you've been avoiding and get things out into the open. Avoiding the topic isn't a sign that you're in control of your life.] 

_Get things out into the open,_ it says. 

Okay, universe.

Mark plays over the videos he’s tagged in, sitting on the couch in the living room of his apartment which is quiet since Jeno and Jaemin had gone to Jaemin’s place with his folks for the weekend. 

God, he’s so, so painfully obvious about his attraction to Johnny that it’s a wonder no one (except his roomates) have called him out on it yet. 

He’d met Johnny just five months ago when the semester began, an introduction that took place when Doyoung had dragged his tall friend over from the library and said, “Hey, Johnny, this is Mark! New lit major in town.”

The reason for the introduction being that since Johnny was an SMU alumus, remaining there for his masters in psychology, and an active member of the Asian Student’s Association with Kun and Brian, as well as the resident extrovert of the group, people usually took it upon themselves to loop the new kids on the block into Johnny’s radar. 

And God, if Mark hadn’t believed in love at first sight before, he definitely did when he met Johnny, because Johnny had levelled him with a piercing stare and an easy smile and a firm handshake and Mark was pretty much a goner from the first minute. 

Over the course of the next couple of months, it had become routine for Mark to come in for the ASA meetings, and very quickly he had gone from “new lit major in town” to “Canada” to “Markie”, not just with Johnny, but with everyone around them. Yuta had taken an easy liking to him, and even if Mark had been a little overwhelmed by the surprisingly tight-knit group of friends that Johnny and Doyoung had, it was nice to be able to come to campus to a little pocket of home that felt carved out especially for him. 

The thing with Johnny though is… well. It’s interesting. 

Interesting because it doesn’t take long for Mark and Johnny meeting up to be a regular thing, and that varies between just the two of them hanging out at the movies, or Johnny coming by to pick him up with Jeno and Jaemin so they can all head to a party together. Interesting because out of all their friends, he and Johnny text the most, which is why Mark is almost always kept off-guard when Johnny sends him a link to a meme or a stupid tweet when he talks nothing like he texts. 

Johnny is animated when he talks to Mark, animated in a way that has Johnny always elbowing him and making Mark’s face light up, and Mark’s chest will bubble up, buoyed with joy, because no one makes him laugh like Johnny does. He doesn’t even mind when Johnny is laughing at his expense, because Mark’s never really taken himself all that seriously, and even if sometimes his face will burn with embarrassment, Johnny is quick to lean in and loop his arms through Mark’s and say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” with his breathless laughter and his half-moon eyes. 

It’s interesting because even if Johnny is generally a warm person around people, there really are times when he can’t help but think that Johnny is especially warm toward him. He knows that Johnny is bi, knows that Johnny had had a pretty long stint with Seulgi before they broke up a while back and she started dating Irene and he’d gone on to mess around with Yibo for a while before that didn’t work out either. 

But by all accounts, Mark has noticed that the way Johnny treats him isn’t quite how he treats their other friends, and it’s this sort of thrill that has had Mark on edge daily since they first met. 

Sometimes he thinks he’s being ridiculous and naive, thinks that maybe he’s just projecting really really hard, but Mark can’t be the only one in this, not when he’s caught Johnny’s gaze lingering on him softly more times than he can count, right? It can’t just be him that sees how Johnny always waits for him, situates himself next to Mark when they’re out in public? 

The doorbell rings, and Mark’s momentary trip down memory lane is cut short only to have fear rush back in through his veins. His fingers suddenly feel cold, his feet numb when he pads over barefoot to the front door. 

When Mark opens the door, Johnny is standing on the opposite side of it, and he actively has to suppress a moan because he has no fucking idea why Johnny decided to come over looking the way he does right now, which is to say, he looks fantastic in those ripped jeans and stupid jacket and stupid mussed up hair. Johnny getting a perm has truly been such a bane to Mark’s life, honestly. 

In the three seconds Mark spends staring at his friend, he has a sudden vision of just hauling Johnny into the apartment and kicking the door back behind him and getting on his knees to blow him, no more talking, just that. 

But of course that isn’t what’s going to happen. Mark reminds himself to temper the hope because while Johnny looks handsome, he also looks a little lost, and it’s unnerving. 

“You gonna let me in or--”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry,” Mark says, stepping back and giving Johnny the space to enter, which proves to be useless anyway since Johnny is pulling him into a hug the moment he crosses the invisible line into Mark’s apartment. 

“Hey,” Mark says, voice muffled against Johnny’s shirt. “Whassp?” Mark continues, mouth against denim cloth. 

Johnny pulls back and searches Mark’s face for something, and Mark’s heart is hammering in his throat, which he’s pretty sure is anatomically impossible, but also his heart had fallen to his ass earlier so he’s really no sure anymore what physical science even means. All he knows is that he got royally drunk last night for the first time in a long while, barely has any recollection of what the fuck it is he might have said to Johnny, but it can’t have all been that bad if Johnny is here bringing him in for a hug and coming to talk to him, right?

“Do you want me to make brunch so we can stall or do you want to just… talk?” Mark says, braver than he actually feels. 

Johnny chuckles under his breath, and takes Mark by the wrist just as he toes off his sneakers, and walks them over to the couch. Johnny sits himself in the middle of it before turning Mark, his leg folded up on the couch between them. 

Mark feels severely underdressed for whatever conversation they’re having despite them being in his apartment-- he’s only in a hoodie which, Jesus fuck, belongs to Johnny, because of course he’d forgotten that it was Johnny’s, and his boxers, which Johnny sits there like a laid back model with strawberry lip balm on his lips and Mark is really losing focus here--

“Okay so, how much of last night do you remember?” Johnny asks softly like he’s talking to a startled animal. Mark wonders belatedly if he looks anything like a deer in headlights right at this moment. 

“Um--” Mark starts. “It’s flashes. I remember the… well, when we were behind the patio…” Mark trails off. He remembers that. He remembers the kiss Johnny had left on his temple. “I remember being in the kitchen, and I saw the videos from last night on IG, but I don’t remember much after Vernon and Chung-ha did their dance-off.”

Johnny laughs a bit at that, and says, “So everything after that, you don’t remember?” 

Mark’s filled with a sense of dread now, truly, because the answer is no, he does not. He wonders if he’d tried anything with Johnny, if he’s crossed a line, and he scrambles to ask.

“Oh my god, did I do anything-- fuck, did I hurt anyone? Did I force myself on--”

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” Johnny says, his hands up to placate Mark. “ _Caaaaalm_ down, take a breath Markie, it’s nothing like that. You’re okay. You were good.”

Mark takes a steadying breath, and relaxes into the hand that Johnny has rubbing on his arm. 

“Okay, okay, I’m just gonna fill you in on what you said on the way home, and then we can… talk from there, okay?” Johnny says, and he’s still talking carefully, like he doesn’t want to scare him away. “So sometime between you guys singing ‘Shape of You’ and Ten finally declaring that he’s in love with Sicheng, you decided to… unload as well.”

Mark desperately hopes that Johnny means he threw up actual vomit instead of his feelings, but his gut is telling him that that might not be the case. 

“Not in front of everyone, but to me, when I took you to the bathroom so you could wash your face. Now, I’m not going to be presumptuous about anything here, I’m just going to parrot what you told me, and then we’ll figure it out from there, okay?” Johnny clarifies. 

Mark takes a deep inhale. He’s such a fucking moron when it comes to Johnny, more so when he’s inebriated, but Johnny is being nice, and so he tries to get a handle on how to best mitigate this. 

“You told me, kind of slurred and all, that you’re in love with me, and that you have been for months now, and that you didn’t understand why you weren’t kissing me yet,” Johnny says in a rush, but he’s smiling, his cheeks are tinted red. Mark hasn’t even thought he was capable of blushing, but here Johnny is. 

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, that’s. Well. Mark honestly expected worse. Or maybe it was worse but Johnny is just giving him the Cliff’s Notes version of it. 

“What did you say when I said that?” Mark hazards to ask.

Johnny looks up at Mark tenderly, and Mark is gone, gone, gone. 

“I told you to tell me when you were sober,” Johnny says. 

“And I just accepted that?” Mark asks, because knowing himself, he probably did something even dumber, like put up a fight, or insist that he was sober, or something. 

“You said, ‘I think it’s stupid that we aren’t like, kissing. You’re into me, right?’” Johnny says, laughing into his hand. Mark’s cheeks burn with shame. Oh god, he’s blown his chances entirely. “You were very bold last night. And a little distraught. There may or may not have been some tears.” 

Mark doesn’t exactly know what to say, except maybe that Johnny is here to see if he’s going to confirm or deny the statements his _in vino veritas_ -loving id decided to make without checking in with his super ego. 

He knows that Johnny is waiting, that this is where he’s supposed to step in. Knows too that he should be more terrified than he is, but his mind reminds him: This is Johnny. Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay because it’s Johnny. 

“I can’t remember what I may have said,” Mark says. “But I guess Mark from last night decided to preempt whatever big confession I had had planned for you. I’m an idiot, but you know this.”

“I’ve had this ridiculous crush on you since the day we met,” Mark says. He closes his eyes and thinks about his horoscope for the day. “It was so small back then, barely a blip, but then we spent more and more time together, and I just kept thinking, maybe he feels the same way.”

Johnny lets him continue, lets him carry on because he knows that Johnny knows that Mark is far from done. 

“I really like spending time with you,” Mark carries on, pulling his knees up to his chest, circling his arms around them while he rests his chin on his knees. “I like going out with you, I like your stupid running commentary under your breath when we watch movies. I like listening to you argue about politics with Doyoung. I like how your face lights up when you discover a new podcast. I like how your voice pitches up when we’re walking and you see a dog in the vicinity.”

Johnny is smiling to himself, but he’s got his face half hidden in his hands. Mark is so endeared, and he can’t stop. 

“I know we’re around each other all the time,” Mark goes on. “But sometimes I can’t help how I feel like just wanting to kiss you when you do any of those things. I know we’re around each other all the time but I’d like to be more than that, if it’s something you might want too, maybe, one day. So. Uh, there.”

There’s a bit of silence that stretches out and the only thing breaking it is the sound of Jeno’s clock in their living room. 

“Hey,” Johnny says softly. “Look at me.”

Mark closes his eyes for a second, and then turns his head to rest his cheek on his knees instead, glancing over at the man seated to his right, who seems to have moved closer without Mark noticing. 

“The first time I met you, your face did this thing where you looked shocked and excited at the same time but it didn’t exactly know what it wanted to do. And your hand was clammy,” Johnny says. “You stumbled over your hello, and I remember thinking, ‘God, he’s cute.’”

“You told me as much, later,” Mark says, keeping the bitterness from his voice. “Just cute. Cute like a little lion, you’d said.” 

Mark tries to not dwell on it too much, the knowledge that while he’s not exactly ugly per se, he’s not entirely built the way guys like Johnny and Lucas are built. Mark’s never disliked how he looks, but sometimes he wishes that he could look in the mirror and believe apart from being just ‘cute’ to people, he could be someone that they desired. That _Johnny_ desired. And if Johnny’s track record of exes were to be considered, Mark really has no idea how he’s supposed to compare to the likes of Seulgi, Yibo, and Jaehyun. 

“I’m not usually great at remembering these things, Mark,” Johnny says, and he nudges Mark with his shoulder. “But when I got home, I ran it over and over again in my head, meeting you. I remember coming home to Ten and Ten had taken one look at my face and said, ‘Who did you meet?’ like he knew I’d been lovestruck from the get-go.”

Mark feels warmth trickled down from his scalp to the tips of his toes. He releases his hold around his legs and sets his right hand down on the couch. Johnny’s eyes track the movement, and reaches out tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing against the side of Mark’s. 

“You know I’m big on those dumb romance movies,” Johnny says. “You know this about me. I’d never thought it would happen to me, until that day. It’s like I knew you were going to change my life, Mark. And you have, you do.”

Mark counts the lashes on Johnny’s cheeks, counts the milliseconds that it takes for Johnny’s lips to form words that Mark has only heard in his dreams. 

“I’ve waited because I needed to know if it was a fluke,” Johnny continues. “I’ve waited because I wanted to know if the instant attraction on my end wasn’t just my hormones and my hypothalamus fucking with me. I’ve waited because I’ve wanted to get to know you, and I get to do that now but-- Mark, God, you have no idea how much I want you.”

It’s simultaneously the sweetest and hottest thing anyone has ever said to Mark in his entire 21 years of living and he thinks that his heart’s going to explode when he turns on the couch to face Johnny fully. 

Resisting temptation is a good way to use this strength you have, but subjugating your emotions is not.

Mark gets up on his knees and decides to throw caution to the wind when Johnny sits up properly just as Mark straddles him. 

“You want me?” Mark asks, breathless, his arms bracketing Johnny’s head. 

Behind them, the clock ticks loudly. 

Distantly, the roar of a motorbike on the street below. 

Beneath Mark, Johnny shifts his hips, and brings his hands to Mark’s hips, making Mark sit down on his lap with his full weight. 

“Yes, I want you,” Johnny whispers, and even before he can take another breath, Mark is there in his space, pressing his lips onto Johnny’s in a chaste kiss that has Mark exhaling through his nose. 

He’s been fantasizing about kissing Johnny’s supple lips for months now, but nothing compares to the soft warmth of having his lips slide against Mark’s; nothing compares to the small, tentative sweep of Johnny’s tongue over his bottom lip; nothing compares to hearing Johnny’s small groan when Mark deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into Johnny’s mouth fully, taking Johnny’s lip between his teeth and tugging.

The kiss becomes filthy very quickly, and in the span of five minutes, Johnny has his thumbs brushing against Mark’s hipbones while Mark uses his arms to hold Johnny close, like he’s saying, “No take-backs,” like he’s afraid Johnny will change his mind halfway through and disappear into the ether. 

But no, Johnny remains, his kiss sweet, not too wet, his hands grounding Mark like he’s worried about crossing boundaries. 

Mark, on the other hand, has grown painfully hard just from kissing Johnny, and he’s sure that Johnny can feel the insistent boner pressing into his abdomen, especially since Mark has been rutting into him.

After a particularly rough twist of his hips, Johnny pulls away suddenly, hissing with his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the couch, and Mark has a hysterical thought that he’s hurt Johnny somehow until Johnny says, “Fuck, Mark, I’m so hard.”

And Mark practically salivates at that. He lifts his hips up from Johnny’s lap, and sees the silhouette of Johnny’s cock straining in the confines of the distressed jeans he has on, and Mark marvels at it, at how it’s trapped right there, pants so tight he’d barely felt the erection. 

“Can I--” Mark starts, his fingers already at Johnny’s fly, and, oh great, they’re Levi’s 501’s, this is going to take forever to fucking undo, which apparently Mark says out loud again, since his brain-mouth filter seems to be out of commission lately. Johnny is out of breath but laughing as he takes control and gently swats Mark’s hands away to undo his own buttons.

Mark has a moment of clarity when Johnny eases his jeans off his hips and halfway down his thighs, and the moment comes with horse blinders, like he’s a dog with a cone of shame and can’t see anything else but the swell of Johnny’s cock covered in his grey boxer briefs, the precum staining the front of them dark.

There had been jokes, of course, about Johnny’s size considering how big his feet were, these in-jokes about how Johnny’s relationships probably didn’t work out because his partners couldn’t handle his girth. They’d all made Johnny out to be this hung dude with a third arm for a dick, but Mark finds that they’ve all just been exaggerated because while it looks bigger than any of Mark’s other partners’ dicks, he’s pretty sure that when Mark actually does get to have his hands on Johnny’s hardness, it’ll be a bit smaller than his favorite dildo that Xiaojun had gotten him off Taobao and then fucking left on Mark’s bed in “inconspicuous packaging”. 

Size aside, Mark knows that he is not letting Johnny go home today without gagging on that dick, and-- ah yes, apparently he’s said that out loud, too. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world for anything you want to do, Mark,” Johnny says, stroking his thumb on Mark’s cheekbone. Mark leans in to kiss him again, and this time it’s slower, more controlled, though who’s in control this time is really a mystery to Mark. “I want anything you want. I just want you.”

“You know,” Mark says, figuring that there’s no point in censoring himself anymore. “I’ve wanted you too, ever since we first met.”

Mark pushes at Johnny’s chest, making him recline onto the couch and spread his legs a little bit. Mark adjusts himself, still straddling Johnny, moving back a little to rest his ass on Johnny’s thighs. 

“After we spend the day together, when you’re not around,” Mark says, pulling the hoodie off and ruffling his hair in the process. Johnny’s eyes watch him carefully. “This is what I do.”

Mark uses his left hand to pull at the garter of his boxers, and uses his right to take his cock out. He’s so sensitive right now, and this is so, so much, this little tick of bravado that he has all of a sudden. Johnny’s breathing is shallow, like he’s trying to control himself. His eyes stray from Mark’s face to his cock that curves up toward his belly. Mark starts to stroke himself slowly, and he sees Johnny’s dick twitch in its confines. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mark says, trying to breathe through the pleasure that spikes through him. “I love being with you, love being in your company. But--” Mark cuts off to bite his lower lip momentarily. “But fuck I’d be lying if I said you don’t turn me on like this.” 

Mark watches as Johnny watches him, completely entranced by Mark’s hand stroking over himself, and Mark lets spit pool in his mouth before letting it dribble onto his cock, his fingers spreading it over the hardened flesh. Johnny frowns, his hips canting up like he’s looking for purchase, and says, “Fuck, that’s so hot.” 

Mark can’t stop running his mouth, can’t shut up about how often he’s touched himself thinking of Johnny’s mouth on his cock, thinking about sinking into Johnny’s tight heat, thinking about how many times he’s had to resist the urge to blow Johnny when they’re studying in the library together. 

Johnny loses his cool, hauls Mark’s ass with both his hands, and makes Mark sit on his cock fully so he can grind up into him. It’s the hottest thing Mark’s ever experienced in his life so far, and the level of horny that he’s at right now is stratospheric, knowing that Johnny can lift him up like nothing. 

“Johnny,” Mark says, still stroking himself, firm, but slow. “Please touch me.”

It’s the last of Johnny’s self-restraint, and he springs into motion like’s just been waiting for the green light this entire time, like a racer ready to go. He has his lips on Mark’s neck, his hand replacing Mark’s as Mark presses into Johnny’s lap as he frantically tries to give Johnny some friction. 

When Johnny’s tongue swipes over Mark’s nipple, it’s almost too much, and Mark nearly comes on the spot. Johnny pulls back, spits into his hand, and continues to stroke Mark, measured and controlled and so fucking wet. 

“Is this what you imagine, Mark?” Johnny asks, breath hot on Mark’s ear. 

“Yes,” Mark replies, desperately trying to keep his gaze on Johnny but barely succeeding, not when Johnny’s hand is working him so well. “But this is better. This is-- oh, fuck, yes, faster, please.”

Mark is leaking precum all over Johnny’s shirt, and he’s sure that Johnny’s gray boxer briefs are soaked by now, and he’s so, so fucking close that if he lets Johnny continue, he’s going to blow his load right here. Instead, Mark pants, scrambling to pull Johnny’s hand away just as his cock twitches, just shy of release. 

“I don’t want to come yet,” Mark says. “I want to taste you, Johnny.”

And fuck if that isn’t a whine that escapes Johnny’s mouth. Mark gets up on shaky legs, and gets down on his knees between Johnny, who watches Mark with an expression that can only be described as hunger, a look that jacks up in its intensity as Mark drags his tongue all over the dark spot on Johnny’s boxer briefs. 

He tugs at the garter and pulls down, Johnny’s gorgeous cock springing free from its confines, flushed red at the head, clear precum slowly making its way down the shaft before Mark catches the drop with his tongue. 

Johnny moans at the first touch, Mark’s hand encircling his heady girth to stroke up, and Johnny spreads his legs, doing all that he can to prevent from fucking into Mark’s mouth. Mark keeps his eyes on Johnny, who keeps his eyes on Mark, Johnny’s swollen lips parted to better breathe through his mouth. 

Mark relaxes his throat and exhales as he slides his mouth over as much of Johnny’s cock as he can manage, until Mark feels himself gag, tears springing to his eyes at his effort to breathe and make Johnny feel good at the exact same time.

What he doesn’t expect is Johnny to start clenching his fingers over Mark’s shoulder as a warning, since Mark’s only just gotten started. 

“Mark, fuck, Mark, I’m so close,” Johnny says, his hips shallowly thrusting up into Mark’s mouth. “Mark, I---”

Mark takes all of Johnny in his mouth, gags, relaxes, and hollows his cheeks out to suck back up toward the tip, his hand squeezing the base of Johnny’s dick as he fondles Johnny’s balls with the other, and then Johnny is exploding in Mark’s mouth, his cum hot on Mark’s tongue, spilling out onto Mark’s chin before Mark draws it back into his mouth and swallows. 

Johnny looks at him like he’s seeing Christ’s apparition, and Mark thinks he could get used to this kind of adoration on Johnny’s face. 

Johnny’s face is burning with shame, it seems, because he’s scrambling to pull Mark up while saying, “Oh my god, I barely lasted five minutes,” and “I’m so sorry, I can last longer than that I swear,” and “You’re just so fucking good at that.”

Johnny lays Mark down on the couch, kissing down his chest, his abdomen, the hollows of Mark’s hips, and takes Mark fully in his mouth. Mark can understand why it took Johnny barely anytime at all, especially when Johnny is making the most delicious, dirty slurping noises he’s ever heard while getting his dick sucked, and then Mark is pulling at Johnny’s hair while Johnny veritably chokes on Mark’s cock and then Mark is shooting his load into Johnny’s wet, wet mouth, Johnny’s tongue sliding over the slit of his cock head as Mark cum pulses onto it.

Johnny collapses next to Mark on the couch, their bodies spread out on opposite ends, their heads near each other. There’s sweat on Johnny’s forehead, and Mark’s pretty sure there’s cum drying on his clavicle. They’re both breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath. 

“Wow,” Johnny says, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, also staring at the ceiling. 

They glance at each other, and then burst out laughing, like their lungs are chasing air, and then Johnny is rolling onto his side, Mark seeing his face this close and upside down for the first time ever.

“God, that’s the horniest thing I’ve ever done,” Mark says, and Johnny is reaching up to brush Mark’s fringe away. 

“Definitely in the top five for me,” Johnny replies, and Mark lets out an indignant “Hey!” before Johnny sits up, and rearranges himself so that he’s lying fully on top of Mark, bracing himself on his elbows above Mark. 

“It’s okay,” Johnny says, nosing at Mark’s jaw. “We have time to replace the current lineup.”

Mark rolls his eyes, and then presses a kiss to Johnny’s cheek.

“So we’re doing this?” Mark asks, shy all of a sudden, now that everything is out in the open. 

“I want this, the entire thing,” Johnny says. “Kissing you, taking you out on dates, cooking for you, fulfilling every sordid fantasy your head seems to have locked up in there,” Johnny adds, tapping Mark’s temple gently. 

“I want this, too,” Mark says. He slips his fingers in between Johnny’s. “All of this with you.”

“You’re my every day, Mark Lee,” Johnny says, lips soft on his cheekbone. 

“God, that’s so—“

“What? So what? Try me, bitch,” Johnny says, laughing when he digs his fingers into Mark’s side. 

“Nothing! Forget it!” Mark yells, but Johnny refuses to relent. 

Behind them, the clock ticks. 

Above Mark, Johnny’s laughter. 

“Do you wanna go get food?” Mark suggests after Johnny has peppered his face with kisses.

“But we already had a nutritious, gluten-free lunch?” Johnny says, deadpan.

It takes three seconds to register what he’s just said.

“Oh my god,” Mark shouts, slapping Johnny on the arm. “You’re! So! Gross! You’re! So--”

Johnny kisses him, and Mark forgets everything else after that. 


End file.
